


Count on It

by bienenalster (pinkspider)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Codependency, M/M, shameless foreshadowing, sometimes they play hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5347646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkspider/pseuds/bienenalster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Specifically, in which Jack and Kent fail at playing against each other. </p><p>Generally, in which Jack and Kent fail at being reasonable human beings. </p><p>Or, the lighter side of codependency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count on It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentghosts/gifts).



**December 19th, 2005**

“It’s such an honor to be chosen for World Juniors and get to represent your country,” Kent said the media after he got the call.

(“Ha, dude, your mom’s gonna root for me,” he said to Jack after he got the call.)

“Yes,” agreed Jack. “It’s amazing.”

(“I highly doubt that,” Jack had responded, with a shake of his head.)

When the reporter from NHL.com asked, “You two are the anchor of the Oceanic - what do you think it will be like to play against each other?” they exchanged glances.

(“Of course she will - we’re both Ameeeericans, fuck yeah!” he had sing-songed with the most obnoxious of all the obnoxious grins in his arsenal.)

“Well, it’ll be a little weird, I guess,” laughed Kent, “but once you’re on the ice, it doesn’t matter, you know? You just want to give it your best and win, no matter what jersey you’re wearing. We’re going to play against each other someday anyway.”

(“Yeah, but she likes to root for winning teams,” retorted Jack.)

“Right,” said Jack. “I’m very excited to be playing with some of the guys I’ve gotten used to seeing on the other side of the ice. It’s going to be really fun and challenging.” Kent nodded along with him, and the reporter scribbled in his notebook.

(“Oh, fuck you, Zimms,” Kent grumbled as he seized on the excuse to wrestle Jack down to the floor of and kiss him.)

 

**December 26th, 2005**

Kent was going to die. He absolutely was just going to keel over on the ice in the middle of practice and never get back up again. Everyone would wonder what took out the healthy, young athlete.

The coroners would never be able to figure out that the true cause of death was lack of sleep caused by Blake fucking Wheeler and his fucking snoring.

He had anticipated having trouble adjusting to someone else up the center on his line. He had not counted on not being able to sleep. Because of snoring. Probably, it wasn’t really Wheeler’s fault that Kent’s sleep rhythms were getting thrown off (really, it was Wheeler’s fault because he snored like a motherfucker), but Kent just wasn’t getting enough shut eye. Even though Wheeler was a pretty cool guy, he wasn’t as good a roomie as Jack, and Kent just couldn't get used to snoring as the reason he couldn’t sleep at night.

There were so, so many reasons Kent missed having Jack as his road roomie, not even counting the promise of victory sex:

  1. They were both early risers.

  2. When all was said and done, Jack was his best friend.

  3. They both hated sleeping with the TV on.

  4. Jack DIDN’T snore.

  5. OK, yes, the victory sex - that could not be overstated.




At least if Jack cost Kent sleep, it was for good reasons.

The snoring fucked up his first practice skate, and now it was fucking up his second practice skate. He shook his head, trying to focus. He powered through, but it still felt like severely hungover bag skates.

Near the end of practice, he looked up to see the Canadians waiting for their ice time. And there was Jack, standing near the glass and chatting with one of his teammates. Completely relaxed.

Fresh as a fucking daisy.

He looked like he’d never had a sleepless night in his life, the asshole. How dare he enjoy rest while Kent smothered himself with a pillow trying to drown out the sound of a buzzsaw getting it on with a jackhammer five feet away from Kent’s bed.

Jack caught Kent staring at him. He grinned and waved.

Kent flipped him the bird.

 

**December 29th, 2005**

Peanut butter sandwich: check. 20 minute power nap: check. Blades sharpened: check. Left skate laced, then right: check. Next: 3 sticks taped.

Jack methodically wrapped the tape (white) on his first stick, making sure to crisscross the first layer. He wrapped the second, vertical layer around the blade, and scowled down at it.

It was… not quite right.

He tapped Comeau on the shoulder. “Does this tape look bumpy to you?” He asked.

Comeau glanced over briefly. “No.”

Jack ran his finger over the tape on the inside of the blade. It felt like there were air pockets, or something, like he hadn’t wound the second layer over the first correctly. “Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Yeah,” Comeau drew his answer out and raised an eyebrow at Jack. He’d barely looked at the tape the first time, and not at all this time. Jack dropped it.

In the first period, he lost 2 faceoffs and blew 3 perfectly good scoring chances before he switched to his second stick. That one worked better.

In between periods, Jack tore the tape off his first stick and re-wound it. Crisscross. Vertical. Each line of tape drawn tight and smoothed down next to the other.

Jack hummed at the blade, twirling it in front of his face. It looked better – no bubbles this time – but… “I don’t think I got the lines flush enough,” he commented as he turned toward Comeau. “Think the tape lines up right?”

Comeau shrugged at him. “Zimmermann, what do you even mean by ‘right?’”

“Never mind,” Jack mumbled.

Jack wished Kenny were there. He had a really good eye for the tape.

 

**December 31st, 2005**

Outside of scrimmages, Jack and Kent had never played against each other. Jack had never even heard of Kent Parson before the Q. They’d been playing together for over a year and making out together for over seven months. They knew each other inside and out. So Jack knew better than anyone what Kenny could do on the ice, but having him poised on the other side of the dot instead of just behind him was still something else entirely.

As the ref skated over for the first puck drop of the game, Jack looked up and caught Kent’s eye across the circle. Kent winked at him.

Jack lost the draw.

The US got the puck into the opposite zone pretty quickly. Jack could see the trajectory Kent was on as he streaked toward the net with the puck on his tape. He caught up with Kent and angled himself towards him, preparing to drive Kent into the boards.

He let himself take full advantage of their size difference, too, so that Kent would be momentarily stunned. Jack knew he needed those precious extra seconds to get a lead on Kent. The hit was perfectly legal, but Jack still checked him harder than he needed to, strictly speaking.

“Sorry, Kenny,” he said in the moment of impact, just before he heard the strangled sound Kent made as Jack knocked the breath out of him.

“Zimmermann, you dick,” he heard Kent grunt out as Jack swept the puck away and started skating towards the Americans’ end. He could tell without looking that Kent was coming straight after him and catching up quickly. As he reached the circle to the left of the American net, he heard Kent just a foot or so behind him.

“Zimms, I’m open!”

What an asshole. How stupid did he think Jack was? He was going to have to try harder than that. Jack passed to Pouliot to his left, thinking, So this is how it’s going to be.

Fine.

 

**January 4th, 2006**

“Sorry about high sticking you,” said Kent as he threw his legs across Jack’s lap and leaned his temple on Jack’s shoulder. “Back in prelims. It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Not even a little?”

“Okay, maybe a little, but with that first period hit, you had it coming, asshole.”

Jack rolled his eyes elaborately, but he wrapped his arm around Kent’s shoulders and pulled him in closer.

“Fair enough. And I didn’t really mean what I said about your mom.”

“You dick.”

After a few minutes, Kent asked, “Zimms, you nervous? About tomorrow?”

He could feel Jack’s heart beat faster and his breath quicken. Which, okay, clearly, that was the wrong conversational choice and Jack was about to go into that weird mode where he took everything too damned seriously. So, Kent lifted his face up to kiss Jack, whose mouth opened to him almost immediately. Kent kissed a trail down Jack’s throat and moved his hand toward the waist of Jack’s jeans, only to have Jack swat him away.

“Kenny… Wheeler could come back at any time.”

“Probably not,” Kent huffed, but he backed off and shifted so he was just sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jack.

“I hate playing against you, Kenny.” His voice was soft and small.

“It’ll happen again someday,” Kent replied with his best nonchalant shrug. “At least until we become UFAs, and then we’ll pull some strings and get the band back together.”

“What strings?” scoffed Jack.

“You’re a Zimmermann, and I’m fucking awesome. There’ll be plenty of strings to pull, Zimms.”

 

**January 7th, 2006**

“But being the leading scorer for the entire tournament is pretty great, Kenny. You were pretty great.” Jack ran his fingers through Kent’s hair. They were sitting on the couch in Kent's billet family's basement rec room for the first time since coming back home, halfheartedly flipping channels. "But I'm glad we're playing together again."

(“It could have just as easily gone the other way,” Jack had told the beat reporters while pushing his bangs back from his forehead. “Team USA has some really amazing players, so it was always going to be close.”)

“Yeah," Kent muttered, looking away. Then he turned toward Jack and his voice brightened into that tone he used whenever he really wanted to get under Jack's skin. “Right back at you, Zimms. I'm just glad you didn't fall apart from missing me.” Kent pressed on, grabbing both of Jack's shoulders like he was giving him the pep talk of the century. “I know it was terrible for you, but you were a real trooper, Zimms. I’m so proud of you."

(“Well, yeah, of course it's disappointing,” Kent had said, wishing he could make the press just disappear. “But we still played a great game - we just got outplayed. This time.” He grinned at that and hope his face looked right.)

“Thanks,” said Jack, dryly, punching Kent in the ribs. "Hey. I really mean it, though. You played amazing. I missed having you on my line."

("The impact I had?" Jack had grinned at the reporter while shaking his head. "No bigger than anyone else's. I got a few lucky bounces, you know? It's a team sport, after all - I wouldn't be anywhere without the rest of the boys.")

“Thanks, man," Kent said, his trademark smirk disappearing. His voice dropped low and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jack. "I missed you, too. But next time we’re up against each other? I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

(When asked about returning to Rimouski, Kent had found his fake smile turned a little more real as he replied, "Yeah, this is going to be a great experience to take back into the rest of the season back home. I mean, it's a lot easier to play with Zimmer on the same line as you, that's for sure. Plus, this just really makes you want to come in first at something, you know?")

Jack grinned, wrapping his arms around Kenny's back and pulling him in closer. "I’m counting on it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was the first time Jack and Parse played against each other at World Juniors and how badly they handled that. Heaven help me, I tried to keep it light. Hopefully that was successful. 
> 
> Thanks to the 'Swawesome Santa mods for making all this happen and to [rayemars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rayemars) for the beta.


End file.
